SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel

by O'Brien, J. Z.

  SURVIVING ABE

  BY

  J.Z. O'BRIEN

  ====================

  Cover art by

  AETERNUM DESIGNS

  http://aeternumdesigns.com/

  ====================

  Digital Edition. Copyright 2014 by J.Z. O'Brien. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—

  electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other, except for brief quotations in printed reviews—without prior permission of the publisher.

  ===================

  The atmospheric events in this work are based on a conglomerate of historical events. The characters portrayed are fictitious and many geographical details have been altered.

  ====================

  This work is dedicated to Cheryl, my Wife, and Best Friend For Life.

  Table of Contents

  DAY 1

  Gus & Oley - Uncompahgre Plateau, CO

  A sharp, metallic clack of a shod hoof striking rock interrupted the whisper of an autumn breeze coursing through the forest. Leather straps holding panniers to packsaddles squeaked under strain, and an occasional snort from one of the four horses were the only other sounds coming from the passing pack train. Still, the presence of the two men and four horses alerted a raven perched at the tip of a tall fir tree. Sunlight glinted off its iridescent black feathers as the raven emitted three cries, alerting the other forest creatures of the interlopers' approach.

  At the front rode an outfitter named Oley, leading two packhorses loaded with enough food and gear to set up a weeklong, comfortable base camp for Gus, who rode at the rear of the procession. Oley offered hunters on the Western Slope of Colorado a means of getting their gear and supplies packed in, and out, of hunting areas inaccessible to motorized vehicles.

  Years of planning and waiting had gone into this solo, recurve-bow hunt for elk on Colorado’s Uncompahgre Plateau. Gus had hired Oley to drop him in a remote area not many could get to, having found it after numerous hikes and many hours of studying aerial maps. He used two main criteria in selecting the site: its good elk habitat, and its distance from the maze of ATV trails on which most hunters traveled. By using Oley’s horses Gus could avail himself of this out-of-reach-place and not be totally exhausted by the pack in, or out, should he harvest an elk.

  Oley didn’t agree with solo hunts and, as a rule, refused to book them. When Gus had approached him he had made an exception, perhaps because he knew Gus and what he did for a living. Gus was always a go-getter, building a career out of his first jobs during high school summer vacations. It wasn't long before he grew his one work-truck, one-man concrete contracting outfit into a company running two full-time crews with a third during the summer season. You might say Gus built a solid reputation, set in concrete.

  Gus also knew most of the good old boys that lived in the county, including ranchers such as Oley, who moonlighted as outfitters during the fall hunting season, just to make ends meet. These men innately know a good deal and find it hard to pass one up. Gus used that to his advantage when he could.

  Finishing concrete and rubbing stone flat with a trowel for twelve years had given Gus the shoulders and sturdy build to be able to handle most anything; maybe that’s what had helped Oley bend his rules. Or, maybe it was the price Gus had offered him on a concrete slab for the new shop at Oley's ranch that had finalized the bargain. Whatever the real reason, both men had smiled when they shook hands.

  By midday the pack train reached the area where Gus planned to hunt and the ridge he hoped to camp on. Scouting around to locate a suitable campsite brought them to a level shelf on the side of a ridge that looked promising.

  Oley located a clearing on the shelf with a thick stand of fir trees above it, and juniper and pinyon trees covering the slope below. In the valley bottom a small creek, no more than a foot wide, had year-round running water making this valley a great wildlife habitat. A slide above the shelf culminated in a stand of aspen that indicated the presence of water, which would make this an ideal campsite. Oley reined his mount toward the stand to investigate. Once there he dismounted and found a seep that looked as if it could be cleaned out, so it would offer fresh drinking water. He pointed out to Gus where the moisture first appeared and suggested that as a spot to try and develop first.

  Gus took the lateness of the day into account against the likelihood of finding a better location and opted to make this site his base camp. The shelf’s position, about half way between the valley floor and the top of the ridge, would make a warmer camping area above the pool of cold air that would sink into the valley bottoms at night. The ridge above offered a vantage point for locating game, in addition to planning the tactical aspects of hunting any elk spotted. Oley agreed with Gus’s selection, and in short order the men set to work unloading all the gear and provisions.

  As he mounted to return to the trailhead Oley said, "Keep track of the days Gus. I’ll be here about noon on Thursday, six days from now, and will leave midmorning the next day, with or without you. If you’re not here I will report you missing to Search and Rescue as soon as I get in cell phone range, okay? Remember to keep your nose over your toes and all of 'em pointed into the wind, and you’ll get a shot or two. Good hunting. See ya Thursday." The outfitter and his four horses disappeared in a matter of minutes, leaving Gus to the high-altitude solitude that he craved.

  Once all sounds of the pack train had faded, background sounds of the forest slowly filled back in. Gus shut his eyes, leaned his head back until he felt the sun’s heat on his face, and in a low voice spoke to the sky:

  "No telling if everyone is as stressed in their lives as I am in mine. I'm up before the sun and lay down well after it's set. If I’m not on the phone talking, texting, emailing, or negotiating my time for money, then I’m most likely asleep, or wanting to be. My rut’s so deep I don’t see out of it until I climb out once a year for a week long vacation where I spend enough money to force me to jump back in for another year.

  I’m Gus Tulley, stressed with life as I’ve come to live it. I’ve arrived here in this hard-to-get-to, middle-of-nowhere place, with the intent to exist only in the moment. I will not think of my past’s consequences, or my future’s obligations. Instead, I commit to thinking only about my own well-being for the moment . . . for one week."

  Gus wasn’t sure anyone or anything had heard his vow, but saying it, and meaning it, made him feel a little less stressed as soon as he had finished. An answering "CAW, CAW, CAW" startled him. He opened his eyes to see the raven informing him that he did indeed have an audience, and nothing went unobserved in the forest.

  Tess - Chesapeake Bay, MD

  Visually spotting the channel marker, exactly where the electronic navigation system indicated it would be positioned, lessened the concern Tess felt in seeing the decreasing readings on the depth meter. With the keel floating five feet below the water's surface, her planned itinerary of sailing along the length of the Bay depended on finding, and then staying in, the dredged channels. By paying close attention to the navigational aids marking the routes, Tess was determined to keep her boat from going aground in the shallow waters of Chesapeake Bay.

  Through the binoculars she tried to read the channel marker's number. When sailing vessel (S/V) Robin drew near enough in the fading light she saw "Langford 1" on the marker, verifying she was approaching the entrance of the channel leading into the anchorage. Tess estimated Robin would clear the marker with margin to spare, but she continued to tweak the sails and helm; her attention never away from the depth meter for long. Onc
e safely through the channel Tess would turn to port, toward the sunset, and anchor in a tributary of Maryland’s Chester River.

  Bound for Chestertown as her first port of call after entering the Chesapeake Bay two days ago, tonight's anchorage put the town within another day's sail upstream. She had spent the previous two nights anchored in small rivers, taking in the beauty of the northern part of the Bay, as she would again tonight. Even though Tess enjoyed anchoring in natural settings away from civilization, and did so whenever possible, occasionally exploring new ports of call spiced-up the cruising experience—and the pantry. Tess looked forward to provisioning, as well as sightseeing, when she arrived in Chestertown sometime in the next few days. Schedules, and hurrying to be on time, had no place aboard a cruising sailboat.

  Being a single-hander on a sailboat is rare, being a female single-hander is almost unheard of. Learning diesel maintenance, navigation, sail handling, and anchoring are just some of the specific skill sets needed, in addition to being able to make do with what's on hand. Lacking any of those qualifications weeded out most people, but not Tess. With enough proper, prior planning Tess felt she could—and would—do just as well as anyone else; male or female.

  Hailing from Portland, Maine and sailing south toward the equator, for a warmer winter, had not been marred by any undue drama—so far. Tess's decision to sail, rather than motor the distance, had prompted an earlier departure date than most of the other boats that were migrating south for the season. While those who motored into adverse winds expected to make better overall time, leaving early allowed Robin to remain at anchor and wait for better conditions, giving Tess the time to pursue her other passion of studying the weather; or so the plan had been. Instead of wind and waves, the first adverse weather of the trip threatened with temperature; she had sailed into a stagnant air mass that got hotter each day and more polluted by the hour.

  The heat of the late afternoon sun carried into the evening hours and gave Tess a taste of the hot temperatures building over the eastern U.S., which she would be dealing with for the next few days. Her plan to survive without air conditioning on a 35-foot sailboat would soon be put to the test, and she felt a need to get to the anchorage and start preparing. Mastering the technique of living aboard on hot days, in some measure of comfort, would be a valuable skill for anyone with a goal of sailing to the tropics.

  A quick glance at the depth meter pulled Tess back to the moment; she reminded herself that getting safely into an anchorage was probably the most dangerous part of each day's sail. The channel into this anchorage gave Robin just enough water depth, with less than a foot to spare, which prompted her to squeeze the helm and hold her breath as the depth meter showed the keel clearing the bottom by inches. She dreaded going aground at the end of a long day; she willed the read-out on the depth meter to increase. After a tense moment the reading slowly reversed the downward trend and she remembered to breathe.

  Once past the shallow spot, with the depth increasing, she steered Robin toward the area marked for anchoring on the chart. Other than a small thicket of trees on one side of the anchorage, the estuary gave way to open grasslands and was exposed to any cooling breezes; the main reason she'd chosen it.

  When S/V Robin coasted into the evening's light breeze and came to a stop Tess let the anchor drop, and it clattered overboard along with the sixty feet of anchor rode connecting it to the sailboat. Silence resumed as Robin drifted back on the slack in the rode until it pulled on the anchor, quickly digging it into the bottom mud, and stopping the sailboat's downwind drift. The abruptness of the stop told Tess the anchor had dug in solidly enough to avoid any worry about dragging if a sudden gust of wind sprang up during the night.

  But, before shutting down the engine Tess put the transmission in reverse and backed up against the anchor. While watching the trees onshore to see if Robin remained stationary, she knew this step wasn't really needed. She also knew being obsessive-compulsive about anchoring enabled restful sleep. After shutting down all the systems she had used while moving the boat, she turned on a light on top of the mast to warn others of her sailboat's presence in the darkness.

  ~~~

  The remnants of sunset painted the estuary in pastel hues, only the occasional calls of waterfowl interrupted the silence that settled over the anchorage. Perfect for indulging in an end-of-day contemplation, Tess thought as she poured a cold beer and settled into the cockpit to enjoy the magic of last light, and the revelations it revealed.

  Tess compared the day’s actual weather with that of the weather synopsis she had transmitted earlier that morning over High Frequency Single-sideband (HF SSB) radio. She summarized the coming day's weather and weather news each morning for a short segment of a daily broadcast to a group of live-aboard boaters in the U.S. waters. Each member tuned to the specific radio frequency early each morning for a controlled meeting, to update member float plans and offer mutual assistance. Tess had volunteered to update the morning gathering on the weather and weather news during the group’s fall migration as her contribution to the radio community.

  To find out if today had turned out close to her predictions for the local area she pulled out the page she'd written for that morning's broadcast:

  Today’s Weather:

  Today three powerful atmospheric conditions are moving toward a collision that will substantially impact U.S. weather conditions. They are:

  1. The developing East Coast heat wave is the product of a stationary, blocking ridge of upper-atmospheric high pressure, forecast to remain stationary for up to 48 hours and offering little change, or relief, from oppressive heat.

  2. Warm, tropical air came ashore over Baja California this morning. The remains of a tropical depression are spearheading a large, moisture-packed, Pacific air mass moving into the U.S. Southwest.

  3. Arctic air started spilling into northern Idaho and Montana yesterday. This frigid air is forecast to drop as far south as central Utah in the next 24 hours.

  The effects of the collision of these opposing air masses will be significant due to its normal eastward movement being slowed, or stopped completely, by the blocking high pressure now over the East Coast. The latest long-term forecast predicts most of the U.S. will experience extreme precipitation and freezing temperatures as this system slowly moves across the U.S. in the next week to ten days.

  Discussion:

  The energy released in the collision will build the strength and size of the low-pressure system now over the Southwest, which will eventually move toward New England as the blocking high pressure moves to the south.

  This southward movement of the high-pressure system will pump warm, moist air from the Gulf of Mexico northward, refueling the storm just when Pacific moisture is diminishing. The rejuvenated frontal boundary, with plenty of arctic air following it, will bring multiple forms of severe weather to most of the eastern U.S.

  Conclusions:

  The weather conditions over most of the U.S. will be stuck in the same conditions for the next three days, deadly hot in the East and freezing cold out West. In the Southwest conditions will deteriorate during the next 24 hours, winter storm conditions expected tomorrow.

  Fair Winds from S/V Robin

  ~~~

  The satisfaction that came from the accuracy of her forecast did little to dispel the foreboding that replaced it. A deadly heat wave and stagnant air would be an unrelenting test of her resilience in the days and hours ahead.

  Con - Grand Junction, CO

  Anxious to know the status of her daughter's flight from Denver, she went to the Flight Status Board as soon as she entered the main terminal building. Once she saw the flight number her daughter had given her had been marked "Delayed" in the ETA column, Con approached the agent behind the adjacent airline ticket counter.

  The young agent hung up the phone with her attention still on the computer screen in front of her. She glanced up at the approach of a woman whose gray-streaked, dark hair framed a captivating face,
topped by a western-style sun hat.

  "How may I help?" the agent asked with a smile.

  Con asked for an updated ETA on her daughter Ela's flight from Denver. The agent told her the time while looking down at the screen, and Con had to ask her to repeat the time. The agent's smile faded as she repeated herself, trying unsuccessfully not to show her irritation.

  Con smiled tightly at the young agent, did a quick inventory of a vast assortment of coping measures she'd developed over a lifetime, and opted for a light-caliber reply, "Thank you again for your help, may you never get old."

  Just having an arsenal of replies at the ready gave her comfort in her personal struggle anytime she was forced to interact with a public that had no concept of hearing loss. Con usually went with the simple solution of avoiding non-essential conversation, which wasn't an option while Ela visited her. She wanted to hear and understand everything her daughter said without constantly asking her to repeat herself. To that end she hoped to spend as much time in quiet surroundings with Ela as possible.

  As she took a seat in the waiting area outside of the secured departure terminal she wondered what changes she would notice right off when she first saw Ela. That’s what a parent really does, Con mused. Every time a child leaves and returns we want to see the changes the world forced on our most precious possession. What signs of new wisdom has our child gained from experiences while beyond our sphere of influence and protection? If Ela would only allow it Con would conduct a full debriefing and detailed inspection, finding all the dings, mars, and dents the world had inflicted, so she could buff out the ones that could be fixed; and retaliate for the ones that couldn’t.